


Feed

by Wolfgang von Cemetery (enemy_xands)



Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: Altered canon, Brotherly Love, Canonical Child Abuse, Creepy Fluff, Drabble, Gen, Light Horror, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemy_xands/pseuds/Wolfgang%20von%20Cemetery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dario takes care of his brother; the ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feed

**Author's Note:**

> Mild Spoilers: if you read the Lucha Underground comics they go into depth about the Cueto bros' relationship. I was a little disappointed with the backstory though because it was a little more...pedestrian than what I was expecting? Lol. So it may not be true canon but I'd still call it kayfabe compliant.
> 
> And is anyone else getting that Too Close/incest vibe from them? Anyone? This is a Robert Rodriguez production after all.

Dario was a bleary-eyed nap away from feeling better, but his chest and head were pounding in tandem and each pulse of blood throbbed his little body.

He laid down anyway, face down, specks of blood smearing the white down pillow. He shoved his thin arms under to prop his head up.

Hurt. So much hurt. Hurt so bad. Not the worst beating from mama, but no walk in the park either. He sighed. It would go away soon. Then he would sleep.

During the day, there wasn't much else to do but sleep. More often than not, Dario roamed the wide halls of the house. All the carpets, worn as they were, were still extravagant and fine to any tastes. The walls were alabaster with beveled windows that peered out to dusty streets. All told the story of their former wealth and prominence, now wasted on the hillside and given to ghost stories. And why not? There was a _thing_ locked in the basement, after all.

The three doors were locked in a peculiar pattern his father had set up many years before. Ah yes, his father. The last time he saw the man he was floating in his study; Dario never went there again, his feet wouldn't even carry him in the direction.

Mama found him as the evening wore on and supper approached. The had servants that prepared their meals nightly, and that dinner was already on the table. But there was a special task that mama retrieved Dario for, every day around five.

"Come, Dario. Sausages."

Those words sent shivers down his spine. How he hated the dense, thick minced meat mama forced him to squeeze between his fingers without the protection of gloves. She drizzled white fat and bright red blood into the mixture and the acrid smell stung his nose. He could feel it seeping into his hair, his clothes. 

While he churned, she rolled and patted them flat and started heaping them on a plate. He couldn't understand how his brother could eat raw pig's meat and blood but mama would never cook them. She must be trying to kill him, so Dario assumed. 

Once the bowl was empty, mama sent Dario away with the plate to feed his sibling through a little slot in the door. His brother had his days; sometimes he was ravenous, sometimes he would sigh and growl a bit, shuffling away. 

Dario sat cross legged in front of the door and knocked. A few moments later came an unintelligible growl, and skeletal fingers pushed through the slot. So he was hungry today.

His brother had been locked away ever since the day father drowned him in the blood of the gods; allegedly, he had a piece of god rattling inside him but Dario didn't believe in such things. Rather, he wasn't sure what to believe in. He only knew his brother was the only one he could talk to in this madhouse. 

He slid a sausage in and listened as it was noisily gulped down.

"Hungry today?"

His brother's grunts were musical and emotive. _Yes, very much so._ There was a strange, innately understood language of gestures and sounds between them. 

"The kids I was playing football with are missing some friends. They told me it was my fault and I can't play anymore...what did I do?"

The fingers reached out for another, a third, and still more until half the plate was gone. Dario rattled on about his day while his brother ate, relieved to get some form of communication off his chest.

His brother swiped at his fingers again. Dario laughed.

"There's no more!"

An impatient grunt and a wave of the slim fingers. _No, no, not that._ He gripped Dario's fingers and pulled him closer and closer until the digits disappeared through the slot.

"What are you...?" Dario's face heated as his brother carefully ran calloused finger pads over the new scarring on his hands. Enraged, his sibling slammed his fists against the door and let out a low, sad moan.

"It's okay." Dario withdrew his fingers and examined them himself. "She can't do much more to me."

Another low grumble and the sound of something sliding against the door. 

"I wish you could come out, too...maybe one day."


End file.
